What Happens In Vegas
by KillerSinnerWhore
Summary: How did Reid cope with Prentiss' death? What if he went home to Las Vegas and went a little buck wild? DarkFic. Rated M for language, violence, sex, and drug use. Reid/OFC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I do not own Criminal Minds, I only own my OFC!**

Before he'd headed out the door Morgan had stopped him to ask him what fabulous weekend adventure he was off to. He'd said it sarcastically but he had no idea. . . Reid had replied he was off to Las Vegas.

He'd cringed a little bit when JJ and Garcia ooh'd over from Derek's desk, they thought he was going to see his mom.

Not like he hadn't tried, he really did. . .

Now he was at a blackjack table at the Mirage twirling a tumbler of scotch, his head swimming in the sea of lights, and counting cards. At least the alcohol helped him numb his headaches, he couldn't find anything more. . .

Spencer felt guilty. He couldn't bring himself to pass the threshold of the Asylum his mother was at. They called it a 'Permanent Care Facility' but Spencer could never bullshit his inner voice, he knew what it really was.

He must've been playing for a few hours, but who knows there are no clocks in mourning or Las Vegas.

At the same time it felt like forever ago and yesterday since Emily had died. His heart was broken. He'd lost a friend, confidante, a sister or sorts, and what felt like his heart. This is why he'd never gotten close with anyone. When you get close you get hurt. Oh, and he hadn't gotten to say goodbye. .

"Sir, sir. . . Sir!"

The dealers calls brought him back out of thought and into the realm of reality.

"Sir would you like to hit or would you like to stay?" the dealer repeated.

Spencer blinked behind his sunglasses, and took about twenty seconds to assess the cards on the table. His head spun with neon, alcohol, and migraine.

He looked down at his own cards wearily. Nineteen. He was actually surprised that he wasn't in a chair in the backroom bleeding with some Goon telling him to stop counting cards at the Mirage, tonight he'd gotten a little sloppy and he hadn't lost as many rounds as he normally sprinkled in to keep his trail cold. Spencer pocketed like, two grand or so, then pushed the huge stack of chips he accumulated forward.

"Hit me," Spencer said into his glass, downing the rest of his drink.

"You sure you wanna hit on nineteen? You've had a few, ya know-" the dealer was trying to due him a kindness.

"Hit me," he repeated, getting up from the table, he took two hundred dollar chips out of his pocket and slid them forward. "That's for you," he continued, gesturing at the dealer, then turned and walked away.

Spencer meandered over to the elevator and pressed the up button. While he waited he tried to let his mind go blank, the drinks would prove helpful in this department.

The elevator chimed it's arrival. When the doors opened Spencer waited for the group to exit then took a long stride inside. Tapping his foot he waited impatiently to get back up to his room and probably obliterate the minibar's supply of little bottles.

The muzak started playing and the door began to slide shut, when. . .

"Wait! Please hold the door!" A woman's voice shouted, as the owner of it came running toward the elevator.

Reid snapped to, leaning forward and stopping the door from closing.

He could see the woman much better now. She stepped through the doors, exceedingly beautiful, but askew. Her long hair was teased out a little bit, so dark it was almost black, and she had a smear of body glitter here and there.

She looked at him with her icy blue eyes and a smirk hung on her pouty lips, which opened then when she said, "Thanks."

"No problem," Spencer mumbled, looking down at his Chucks.

When she leaned forward to press her button he snuck a peak up the back side of her, and almost got caught when she realized he had already pressed the button.

"Looks like we're on the same floor," she said brightly, looking over her shoulder at him and smiling.

"Yeah," Reid mumbled, wincing at how cold he sounded. He didn't mean to, the mix of how tipsy he and her prettiness put him on edge.

She shoved a hand into her pocket and waited as the elevator began to move.

He may not have been at the top of his observational game, but he noticed a familiar mark on her arm, and the dance that her fingers were doing in her pocket.

The doors opened on their floor and Spencer gestured towards the doors.

"Ladies first," He grinned.

The girl smiled back at him and sashayed suggestively forward.

Spencer's breath hitched and he followed after her into the hallway and realized that her room must be next to his.

He stopped at his door and reached inside his jacket for his wallet, flipping it open and filing through it for his key. Looking over his shoulder, Spencer realized that she was one door down from him on the opposite side of the hall.

Reid turned and called to her, "Hey, do you, maybe by any chance want to have a drink with me?"

She turned her head in return, her long dark locks spilling over her shoulder.

"Oh-uh, I don't think so. . ." she said hesitantly, giving him a comical frown.

"Oh y-yeah, ok. I get it," Spencer surrendered, turning back to his door and opened it.

"Hey-" She called out hesitantly, now inside her own door looking out at him.

"Yeah?" He looked up at her, his sunglasses having slid down a bit, he squinted in the light.

She paused a moment and drummed her fingernails on the doorframe, ". . . you party?" the girl asked cautiously.

Reid looked at her laughing, "Party? Uh, yeah, I guess. . . I party."

"Cool," she breathed, closing her door.


	2. Chapter 2

Spencer banged his head on the door a couple two or three times, exhaling hard and wallowing in the new negative he was feeling. . . Regret. He tried hard not to dwell on it; he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't anyways. If he hadn't said anything he would be left wishing he did, and because he _did_ he really wished he hadn't.

"Great job, Spencer, real smooth. . ." he sighed bitterly to himself.

He took off his blazer and draped it over the back off the chair at the small table. Reid fumbled with the knob on the lamp and eventually switched it on after almost knocking it over.

'_Really, Spencer, what were you thinking? What would a girl like that want with a guy like you anyways? . . . She was out of your league, you shouldn't have swung on that one,' _he further admonished himself in his head, as he meandered over to the minibar, unlocking it and inspecting the contents. '_Whiskey, bourbon, vodka, rum? What am I in the mood for?' _he thought to himself, tapping his chin with a finger, trying to decide.

* * *

Billie walked over and fell backward on the bed, relishing the cloud-like comfort of the soft, bouncy mattress. Her long dark hair fanned out all around her, and she allowed herself a single moment to relax, shut her eyes, and center herself. Then, sighing long and low, she fished her phone out of her pocket and checked her messages. There was a text waiting for her saying, _'Sorry, hun, working late. Call u 2morrow.' _Billie huffed and dropped her phone on the bed next to her. She closed her eyes once more, and frowned when she realized she wasn't tired.

BJ sat herself up and hopped off the bed. _'Maybe I should've taken that guy up on that drink. . .'_ she thought to herself, wandering over and looking at herself in the mirror. She trudged over to the cabinet and opened it up, and grabbed a bottle of Cabo Wabo then strutted out the door.

* * *

Reid was drinking a cup of coffee, sobering up, sitting on the love seat, settling into the quiet. There were three hard knocks on the door, snapping Spencer to attention.

"Quoth the raven, nevermore. . ." Spencer sigh to himself, setting his mug on the end table next to him before getting up and sauntering over to the door. Instinctively, and now more awake and feeling much less drunk, he looked through the peephole, but all he saw was darkness. Whoever was on the other side of that door was covering up the lens, he was going to have to open the door if he wanted to see who it was.

So he did, and he was speechless when he saw who it was. It was the girl. The gorgeous girl from the elevator was now leaning on the doorjamb of his hotel room with a bottle in her hand. She was wearing a dark pair of painted-on-tight skinny jeans, a revealing tank top that was both too big and too small at the same time, it looked like she'd cut it herself, and she had on a black pair of cowboy boots with gold embroidery.

"Hey, you still want that drink?" she asked him, shaking the bottle of tequila.

"Uh, sure-" Spencer was surprised that he'd maintained the capability to answer, considering he wasn't _actually_ if this was real, or if instead of sobering up he'd passed out and started dreaming.

"Then. . ." she drew slowly, waiting, "can I come in or what?" she laughed a little.

Spencer shook himself into motion, "Oh, yeah! Of course, please do." He opened the door more fully and stepped aside, watching her stride gracefully into his room.

"I'm Billie by the way," the woman called over her shoulder to him, tossing her hair.

"Nice to meet you, Billie, I'm Spencer," he returned, shocked at how well this was actually going. He shut the door and followed after her into the interior of the room.

"So, are you here for business or pleasure, boy?" Billie asked him, finding the shot glasses on the small drink mixing table, she put her fingers down into the two and picked them up that way, she brought them over to the table and sat.

She had the slightest twang of a Southern drawl in her voice, not all the time, she'd mostly tamed it, but once she got talking you could hear the thin layer of the Mountains left in her voice. Spencer thought her tiny bit of accent was cute.

Spencer let out a little laugh and ran his fingers through his hair, "Um, neither I guess. . ."

Billie poured to shots of tequila and slid one over to him as he sat down in the chair opposite her, sh raised her shot glass, "Then I guess this is to neither," she toasted, throwing her head back and swallowing in the shot.

Spencer nervously followed suit, and made a face as it blaze a firey trail down his throat. He didn't drink tequila much, and definitely never straight without the added benefit of salt and lime.

As she poured out another shot for each of them she said, "Wouldn't it be great if there was a worm in this? I mean there isn't, I tried to find a good bottle that did, but uh. . . Yeah, it was a little more difficult than I anticipated."

Spencer may have been back on his way to being tipsy, but he was still the same old Spencer Reid, "Actually, that's a common misconception, the 'tequila worm'," he used air quotes at this juncture, "is not actually a tequila worm. It's actually the larval state of an agave moth that had burrowed into the plant and is found in a precursor to tequila called Mezcal, which is made from the maguey plant, another form of the agave. Mezcal is essentially the cheaper, rougher version of tequila. Incidentally, 'Eating the worm' started as a marketing gimmick in the 1940's, and the stories implying that consumption thereof will make you hallucinate are strictly urban legends."

Billie just stared at him for a moment, fingering her shot glass.

"O-kay," she said slowly, then began giggling. "I don't know enough about the standard and practice of Mexican alcohols to dispute that, but you sure sound like you know what you're talking about."

Reid hung his head, wishing that when he was around girls _this _gorgeous that he wouldn't be so pedantic. What had being right all the time gotten him, anyways?

"Are you a teacher or something?" Billie asked, pushing his glass closer to him, indicating that she wanted him to take the shot with her.

"Or something," Reid mumbled into the shot. They pounded them at the same time and they both slammed them down on the table at the same time.

Billie played with a long raven-esque strand of hair then she reached forward and grabbed his left arm. Spencer tried to regulate his breathing so his breath wouldn't give him away, he wasn't quite sure what to make of her yet, but he also wasn't trying, he was trying to be fair.

Billie ran her thumb over the faint mark in the middle of his arm, then she met his gaze.

Reid suddenly felt uncomfortable and shrugged his arm away from her scrutiny.

Billie looked away from his gaze, feeling for him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to- I just. . . I know what it's like, ok? Don't worry, I'm not gonna judge you."

Spencer stayed quiet for a moment then started defensively, "Look I don't know what you _think _you know, but you don't-"

"Spencer, come on-" She reached one of her long legs out and rested the bottom of her boot on his chair between his legs, "Never try to shit a shitter."

Spencer had never heard that expression before, but it only took him a minute or so to extrapolate the meaning based on the context. She was right. He wasn't with the team, and she had the same faint mark on her own arm, he didn't _have_ to lie to her. For once he could just be honest, be himself. . . Be a junkie if he felt like it.

Reid sigh hard, furrowing his brow as he hung his head, he rubbed his temples, feeling the dulled throb. He coughed uneasily.

"So, what's your poison?" Billie asked, leaning pack in her own chair, looking somewhat like a therapist with her fingertips touching to make a pyramid.

**A/N: Alrighty then, it might start getting dark up in here! I would love to hear what y'all think, so reviews please! Thanks to everyone who's following and favorited this.**


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